


When the Walls Crumble

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Cullen's relationship with Alain Surana, from start to not-quite the end.





	When the Walls Crumble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmabeth/gifts).



> This was so much fun to write. A real departure from my comfort zone.

_Kinloch_

Alain Surana, presently 16 years old (approximately), brought to the Kinloch Circle at six years old (approximately) from Redcliffe after his magic manifested in Calenhad harbour, resulting in the death of a school of fish. Parentage unknown.

Cullen knows all this and not just because he’s the templar charged with the duty to strike down Alain should he show weakness and allow himself to become an abomination. Alain won’t show weakness, though. He’s too strong, too wily for that. Cullen stares at Alain lying in the centre of the Harrowing Chamber. Sweat beads under his helmet, in his gloves, down his back. What is going on in there, Cullen wonders. In the fade. Does Alain himself taunt the demons with that wit of his? Cullen wouldn’t put it past him. Alain is one of the smartest mages Cullen has ever met. But sometimes being smart isn’t good enough. Intelligence, smarts, not the best traits for a mage in Kinloch Circle. Dangerous, more like.

How Alain had developed such a personality from such wretched beginnings is beyond Cullen. That spark, that wit, was already there in young Alain when young Cullen first came to the circle. Alain ensnared him, no doubt about it, but Cullen only realised that when he was much older and more...aware. The wide-eyed, doleful questions of what books Alain could or could not read were meant as a test, not the innocent questioning of a mage to his templar guard. And Cullen had failed Alain’s test. He failed time and again.

Cullen was not the only templar to fail Alain’s tests, but he was the only one Alain winked at, or lingered around, or brushed against. Once their hands touched when Cullen had handed him a book from a high-up shelf and the tingle had lasted for days. Cullen scratches his hand now, remembering. The guilt makes him sweat even more.

The templars that passed Alain’s tests were treated with deference, Cullen had noticed. Alain paid them the respect they were due. Oh, he was always respectful around Cullen. Cullen could never fault him, never pull him up for breaking any rules, and wasn’t that just a sign of how _good_ Alain was? Too good for Kinloch. Too good for demons?

Cullen looks down at Alain’s prone body. Maker, Alain better be as good as he thinks he is.

Minutes pass. The Harrowing Chamber is as quiet as anything. Cullen’s heart beats too loudly in his chest. The other templars might hear and what might they think of that? Nothing, Cullen tells himself. Nothing at all. They can’t hear. Can he hear them? No. But maybe they’re not as… invested… as Cullen.

Alain twitches, eyes bolting open. He gasps and Cullen catches his own breath, raising his sword in reflex. But Alain becomes aware of his surroundings and sits up, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s done,” he says. He casts his gaze around and settles on Cullen. He can’t know it’s Cullen standing there in full armour. He can’t but he does. “Demons can’t get through me! Guess I’m a real mage, now.”

Cullen breathes a sigh of relief and grins under his helmet.

*

Maker’s breath. Nothing like a harrowing to beat the energy out of you. Cullen stows his harrowing armour and changes back into his regular templar armour. Lighter without the helmet and breastplate and greaves. He positively bounces as he walks through the halls. Food beckons. Only he walks straight into Alain.

“Uh, Alain, hello,” Cullen says. “I’m glad your harrowing went well.”

“Me too!” Alain says. He’s grinning like a loon and his eyes sparkle like the stars. “Imagine if it hadn’t, if you had to thrust that big sword of yours in me, right where I lay. Terrible, terrible.”

Cullen blushes. His face heats up, his neck, too, and he starts sweating again. “I… uh… How did you know it was me who would do… that…” He goes to rub the back of his neck but manages to stay his hand.

Alain looks him up and down, leers more like. “You’re very distinctive, even when you’re clad head to toe in steel. But I must say, you look much more comfortable now. Relaxed, even.” Cullen takes the sarcasm lightly, guessing--hoping--that Alain is just teasing him. “Hey, you want to celebrate the shedding of my apprentice-hood?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“C-celebrate?” Cullen definitely does not squeak.

Alain looks to his left and right, steps forward, and as if that’s not enough, leans forward, too. He looks up at Cullen, his nose level with Cullen chin. “ _Celebrate_ ,” he whispers. His tongue--pink and moist--touches the back of his teeth and his wet lips press together as he says the word,  and--Maker, is it really this hot or--?

“I--I can’t. That’s terribly inappropriate. We shouldn't even be talking like this. I--I should--”

“But you want to, yes?” Alain’s breath ghosts on Cullen’s lips.

“I--I--” Cullen runs.

Cullen runs away from a mage.

Maker, the shame.

*

It has to be a set up. There is no way that Alain Surana, mage prodigy, would have deigned to help a _blood mage_. Cullen shudders. Of the three accomplices, only one now stands before Knight-Commander Greagoir, First Enchanter Irving, the Grey Warden Duncan, and a retinue of templars. Lily, chantry sister, has already been packed off to Aeonar. Jowan, the blood mage, has escaped, but he will be hunted down like a cur.

And that leaves Alain. He stands tall, rigid, jaw locked. He has not bothered to protest his innocence but that does not make Cullen think he is guilty. Alain stares right at Cullen as Knight-Commander Greagoir reads out his sentence-- _to undergo the rite of tranquillity thus forfeiting your rights and privileges as a mage of Kinloch Circle--_ and doesn’t waver, doesn’t blink. Cullen forces himself to keep his eye. He owes him this much. No, he doesn't owe him anything, not really. Alain is just a mage and Cullen a templar. But…

“Knight-Commander, if I may.” The Grey Warden Duncan steps forward. “I will take this mage from your hands.” He…he speaks like he commands no objection. Who is this man that orders such a thing? Cullen is so taken aback that he breaks eye contact with Alain to stare at the Warden.

“No!” Knight-Commander Greagoir shouts. Cullen jumps. “I shall not let this go unpunished!”

“Greagoir. The Wardens need mages. There are worse things in the world than blood mages, you know that,” the Grey Warden says softly. Cullen would almost say he was being condescending. “I am conscripting this mage as my order permits.”

Cullen gapes, then rights himself, then looks at Alain. Alain stays stock-still. His eyes track between the Grey Warden and the Knight-Commander to settle once more on Cullen. He swallows, hard, and his throat bobs.

Knight-Commander Greagoir continues to froth at the Warden’s order but Cullen doesn’t listen. He’s too busy staring at Alain. This, he realises, is the last time he will ever see him. He tries to commit every detail to memory. Every line on that beautiful face, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his pointed ears, the chestnut-brown of his hair and the deep green of his eyes. Alain, too stares back like he is doing the exact same thing to Cullen.

“Come, Alain.” The Grey Warden holds out his arm for Alain, to take him away. Alain blinks and smiles warmly at the Grey Warden.

And he is gone.

Gone.

*

Lyrium surges through Cullen’s veins. He gasps and throws his head back. Maker, there’s no feeling like this in the world. Nothing comes close to the rush, the energy, the _power_. He likes it. No, he craves it. He can’t live without it.

*

Demons, abominations! Madness! All around, chaos and screaming and howling and the horror--this--none of this should be possible, but, but--

Cullen resists. He resists because that is what he is trained to do. He is a templar. _He will not--_

*

No, this cannot be. Not again. The demon who stands before him--he looks like Alain, speaks like Alain, but it can’t be. Cullen has already denied this demon once. Cullen can’t make himself meet the demon’s eyes. It won’t break him. He hasn’t broken yet and _he will not_.

“Cullen, please.” The stone scrapes and Cullen peeks out from behind his hands on bended knee. The demon kneels before him. “I’ve missed you terribly--”

“Sifting through my thoughts, tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have--” Cullen squeezes his eyes shut. This is what he did last time, to the last demon who took Alain’s form. A child’s trick but it had worked. It will work again.

He opens his eyes but Alain still kneels with him. That smile, so soft. And those eyes. The last demon had gotten the shade wrong, but these eyes, these eyes searching Cullen’s--

“You’re--you’re real, aren’t you?” Cullen reaches out but pulls back before he can touch.

Alain nods. “As real as I’ve ever been. I think. The Grey Warden ritual… doesn’t matter. I’m here now. What happened, Cullen?”

“They--Uldred--They’re in the Harrowing Chamber, but you can’t save them! You don’t know what they’ve become!” Cullen stands, and Alain with him.

Alain pulls his gaze from Cullen and confers with his companions. Cullen only notices them now. The mage--Wynne--he knows well, another elf, and a young man in Warden armour. They look as bloody and bruised as Cullen feels.

“I’m going to free them, Cullen. They’re my people--” Alain starts.

“You can’!”

“--and then I’m coming back here, to you.” He steps forward and cups Cullen’s cheek in his gloved hand. “I’ve missed you.”

Then his hand is gone and so is he, striding up the stone steps to the Harrowing Chamber.

*

Alain doesn’t come back. Gotten what he came for, apparently. Aid for the Wardens fighting the blight. He freed the mages. The ones who could be freed, at any rate.

Cullen paces the halls of Kinloch Circle. His footsteps echo and bounce off the walls, too empty, too devoid of life now. He needs people, he needs comfort and safety. He needs a change of scenery, Knight Commander Greagoir tells him. He’s sent to Kirkwall, on the other side of the Waking Sea. A strict circle. What happened here will never happen there.

*

_Kirkwall_

Ten years. Ten, long years in Kirkwall’s Circle. Nothing compared to the days--hours?--of Kinloch. Cullen will never shake those nightmares, of that he’s sure.

To be fair, his days in Kirkwall are not always so strained. Being Knight-Captain is a new, exciting challenge, one that Cullen has taken up with gusto. He isn’t prepared for the idiosyncrasies of Kirkwall’s Circle at first, however he figures that while each circle serves a single, united purpose, their ways of going about applying the Chantry’s order will differ. He is in the Free Marches now, anyway, and they do many strange things on this side of the Waking Sea.

In all his time here he does not think about Alain.

That is a lie.

For the first few years, he thinks about Alain almost daily. He sees him, sometimes, amongst the mages hurrying to and fro, amongst the elves who live in the Alienage. But they are not Alain. None have his chestnut hair, his green eyes, his wit and charm, nor his propensity for magic.

When news of the Ferelden Blight’s end, Cullen thinks of Alain again, wonders what role he played. He will never know.

And after a few years Alain is just a memory. A young man’s silly infatuation. There is no reason Cullen should still think of him.

Kirkwall’s mages do not worry Cullen the way Knight-Commander Meredith worries him. She is…has…changed, over the years. Cullen would suggest that sometimes she is not always herself, but he cannot explain why.

The reason comes soon enough. Cullen surprises himself: he stands on the side of Kirkwall’s mages the way he did not in Kinloch. Hawke, the Champion, stands with him. And when Meredith brandishes a red lyrium sword and cuts down her own people, Cullen wonders if mages are really the ones to be feared. Then he fights because that is what he was taught to do.

And Kirkwall is razed.

And Cullen? Cullen can’t do this again.

*

_Inquisition_

Seeker Cassandra’s invitation for Cullen to command the re-established Inquisition forces comes out the blue. He doesn’t allow himself to waste time thinking it over. He just accepts, then and there. This will be good for him. A clean break. No longer a templar. No more lyrium.

Easier said than done.

*

_Skyhold_

The Inquisitor returns from a cryptic mission with two people Cullen never thought he’d see again. His eyes glide over Hawke and settle on Alain. Alain Surana, in the flesh. They’re all rushed into a conference around the war table, Hawke, Alain and the Inquisitor bouncing off each other, finishing each other’s sentences as they regale Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen with their exploits. All their talk washes over Cullen. He has eyes only for Alain. When Alain speaks, he looks directly at Cullen, eyes sparkling. There are lines around his eyes and mouth, some grey dusting his temples. His voice has a rasp to it.

“What do you think, Cullen?” Alain says.

“Uh, I…” Cullen hasn’t been listening.

Alain laughs, light and trill. “You haven’t changed, have you?”

Cullen blushes but forces a self-deprecating smile. “I admit, I wasn’t expecting to see you, either of you. Consider me flustered.”

“You know each other?” Josephine asks. She is being diplomatically polite. Of course she knows that Cullen has crossed paths with Alain--and Hawke. Leliana wouldn’t keep that sort of information to herself.

Alain laughs again. “Cullen was a templar at Kinloch Circle when I was indentured there.” Then he once again outlines the situation. Cullen pays attention this time. All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden and Orlais, hearing the calling at once. An unprecedented event.

The conversation continues. A mission of gargantuan proportions, an assault of Adamant Fortress, where the Wardens gather. Organising these forces will take all of Cullen’s skill. This will be a challenge, but it is one he revels in.

The meeting breaks up with everyone taking on more work. Alain hovers though, fingers on the war table map. Cullen admits to himself that he is hovering too, waiting for everyone to leave. When Cassandra finally closes the door, he breathes a sigh of relief. Silence. Just Cullen and Alain alone. Cullen won’t run away this time.

“You’re looking good,” Cullen says. That’s not entirely true. Alain’s thinner than Cullen remembers, gaunt, almost.

Alain smiles. “As are you. Furs suit you better than dresses. So rugged.”

“What are you doing here?” Cullen asks. “Not--I didn’t mean for that to sound accusatory. I just--”

Alain laughs again. Such a wonderful sound. Cullen’s heart lifts. “I told you all that already.”

Cullen allows himself a smile. “I confess I wasn’t listening to a word any of you were saying. I’m still in shock. After what happened at Kinloch, I never thought I’d see you again.”

Alain takes a step closer. “But here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“In the flesh.”

Cullen swallows, his mouth suddenly parched. “How long has it been?”

Another step closer. “Too long.”

“The circles have fallen. The chantry is in disarray. All mages are apostates now. Templars have no Lord Seeker...” He’s stalling. He knows he is but he needs to say the words out loud, for his own benefit.

“You’re no longer a templar, Cullen. And I haven’t been your ward for even longer.” Alain is close now, so close. “I confess, I didn’t come to Skyhold to deal with all this Grey Warden business. When I first heard the calling, I knew I had to do just one thing before I made my way to the Deep Roads for the last time.” Alain looks up at Cullen, his nose level with Cullen’s chin.

“What’s that?” Cullen can hardly get the words out, as simple as they are, for the thickness of his tongue.

Alain kisses him. Their lips press together and Cullen is suddenly conscious of how dry and cracked his are. And by the time he’s managed to put that thought behind him and just marvel in this kiss, _this kiss that is actually happening_ , Alain pulls away.

“No,” Cullen growls. He grips Alain’s shoulders and turns him, walks him backwards until he hits the edge of the war table, then Cullen slides his arms around Alain and Alain curls his arms around Cullen and Cullen plunges in for another kiss. He doesn’t hold back. He kisses like this is the last kiss he’ll ever have. He’s waited too long--years, decades--

Alain, too kisses back hard, fingers gripping Cullen’s hair, pulling tight. Cullen presses forward, lifting Alain to sit him on the table and then he presses forward again, until Alain is on his back and Cullen lies over him. Map markers go scuttling over the table. A glass tips over and rolls off, smashing into pieces. The crash pulls Cullen out of his fevered kissing. He draws back, staring down at Alain’s kiss-bruised lips and those deep green eyes.

“I--” He doesn’t get to the finish whatever he was going to say. Alain pulls him back down and kisses him again. Maker, this is everything he’s dreamed of. This was no passing fancy, no youthful obsession. It couldn’t be. Would Cullen’s heart feel like it was going to burst otherwise? Would he be pouring years of untold passion into this moment?

“Alain,” he says, pulling back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

Alain cups Cullen’s jaw, thumb playing with his lip. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Cullen.”

“There is. Jowan, Lily, the Grey Wardens, then Uldred and the abom--”

Alain cuts him off with a quick kiss. “Without all that, I wouldn’t be here now. Well, the Jowan part at least. Whatever happened to him, by the way? Did you find him? Never mind. And Uldred, well, maybe he helped start what Kirkwall finished. Or started as well. I’m not sure on the details. Maker, Cullen, who cares about all that? I came here, for you and by the Maker I will have you.” He draws Cullen to his chest and it’s just as well no one makes the mistake of entering the war room for the rest of the afternoon.

*

Cullen’s enjoying a lie in. Maker, the novelty! He’s propped up in bed against a stack of pillows, his arm around Alain, nestled by his side. He toys with Alain’s hair.

“You said you started hearing the calling,” he says. He’s been trying not to think of it.

“Right. That. Probably shouldn’t’ve told you that. Grey Warden secrets and all. Thing is, I’m not sure what I’m hearing is a true calling or not. Not that I’ve ever experienced it before, but I was expecting something a little less stabby and more…” he twirls his hand. “Grating.”

“What will you do?” Maker, Cullen can’t face losing Alain so soon.

“We’re going to storm Adamant, aren’t we. You and me and Hawke and the Inquisitor and all your allies. It’ll be grand.”

Cullen snorts. “I’m not sure a siege counts as grand.”

“Of course it does.”

Cullen sighs. “Speaking of grand sieges, I need to keep planning ours.” He starts to pull himself free but Alain tugs him back down.

“No no no, not yet, Commander.” Alain smothers Cullen in kisses and Cullen can’t find himself caring about being late.

*

Cullen was a fool to think that stopping taking lyrium would be easy. He looks at the lyrium and accoutrements in his hands and grits his teeth. The relief could be instant…

“Cullen?” The door opens and in pops Alain. Cullen looks up, guilt written all over his face. Alain looks from Cullen to the proof of his weakness. “Cullen,” Alain says. “My love.”

“I can’t do this!” Cullen shouts. He throws the tools and they smash against the wall. “You, you hear the calling and I can’t sleep for nightmares! What are we doing, Alain? Why are we doing this to each other?”

Alain pads over and takes Cullen’s face in his hands. “Because we love each other.”

Cullen nods, without much conviction. “Love.” Such a strange concept, that they should love each other. “When did you know you loved me?”

Alain smiles. It’s small and bashful, a rare thing for Cullen to see. It clears a path through Cullen’s despair. Alain takes Cullen’s hand and drags him to an armchair. He pushes Cullen down and climbs onto his lap. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Cullen nods.

“The world is an unforgiving place for mages. I knew that as soon as I fried all those fish in Calenhad harbour. I didn’t do it deliberately, mind. I got spooked by a dog barking.” Alain smiles at the memory. “The circle is even less forgiving. If I was to survive the circle, I had to keep my head down. That’s what my fellow mages told me. I wanted to rebel, show them they were wrong, weak, but I saw what happened to mages who did that. One, I can’t remember her name--she was before your time--thought she could make the circle better for us, and she was punished with the rite of tranquillity. I kept my head down after that. Then you turned up, all golden curls. You were such a pretty boy. But Maker, you were mean. As mean as the other templars.” Alain ruffles Cullen’s hair and Cullen gulps down guilt. “I didn’t think you were different, not then. But I liked you so I gave you more credit than you were due. I thought maybe…you could change. I never had the chance to find out.”

“I have changed,” Cullen says.

Alain nods. “Yes, mostly. Bloody Jowan ruined all my plans. I didn’t want to go with Duncan. I wanted to stay in the circle, even though it was a prison. What choice did I have though? If I’d been given the option to stay, I’d’ve been made tranquil and then I’d never have been able to seduce you.” Alain laughs, a light trill. “Then I had the chance to return and I took it. We all but ran to Kinloch. Sounds stupid, now, running back to my prison. I guess part of me wanted to rub my freedom in Greagoir’s face. Tell him he had to give me the circle’s mages to fight the blight. I mostly wanted to see you, though. And Maker, I did and it broke my heart, Cullen. Demons. Abominations. No one should have to face those.”

Cullen looks away. Those memories still haunt him. “What was it like, being a Grey Warden?” Cullen asks. Better he distract himself. Both of them.

“Awful. Those first few weeks after Duncan died, when it was just me and Alistair…”

“Duncan died?”

Alain’s nod is sad. “Too much history to tell you in one go. Just know he died and I discovered that my magic wasn’t as strong as I had thought it was--and didn’t that just make me hate the circle even more--and Alistair reminded me of you so much--I flirted with him mercilessly and he was just as adorable as you--but he wasn’t you and that pained me. That’s when I knew I loved you.”

“When you flirted with another man?”

Alain laughs. “Well, when you put it like that!” He ruffles Cullen’s hair again. “Alistair killed the arch demon in the end. He offered and I didn’t say no. I wanted to live. I wanted to find you. Selfish, but that’s always been my way.”

“I missed you so much,” Cullen says. His voice cracks. “I don’t know why I felt the way I did. I told myself it couldn’t be love, but maybe it was? How could I love you, a mage? I know, I know that sounds awful, but it’s how I felt. But, Maker, Alain, you have a way about you. Who couldn’t help but love you?”

Alain tilts his head. “I can think of plenty.” He presses his finger to Cullen’s lips. Cullen opens his mouth and gently bites down on Alain’s fingertip. “You’re not a templar any more, Cullen. I don’t know the pain you go through any more than you know mine, but we have each other, finally, yes?”

Cullen nods. He looks into Alain’s deep green eyes and even though the need still itches under his skin, he thinks that maybe, with Alain here, he’ll be okay. “I love you.”

“I know.”

*

_Adamant_

Cullen is able to steal a kiss from Alain before the siege begins. He keeps the taste of it on his lips as he yells orders and coordinates from a (relatively) safe distance. He steals one more before Alain sneaks into the fortress with Hawke, the Inquisitor, Cassandra, the Iron Bull and Solas. He doesn’t worry. He can’t, he’s too busy. He counts off the flares as he sees them, though, signs of the infiltrators’ progress. The darkspawn dragon swoops and burns and the fortress shakes and shudders and the smoke takes minutes to pass.

After that, the fortress falls fast. Cullen is able to stride past the captured Grey Wardens. Alain is not with any of them, not that he expects him to be. He gets to the centre of the fortress, expecting to find Alain with the Inquisitor and Hawke and all the others but, he’s not there. None of them.

“Where are they?” he demands. The soldiers shrug. “ _Where are they?_ ”

“Th-the dragon… They all fell and the Inquisitor made a rift…”

Cullen fills in the rest of the details himself. He can’t break, not in front of his men. He paces instead.

They wait.

Cullen waits.

A rift sparks, green and vile and Cullen unsheathes his sword, prepared for whatever demons come through.

Cassandra, the Iron Bull, Solas and the Inquisitor all stumble out, coated in sticky black and brown ichor. A moment later, Hawke. Cullen’s breath holds, his heart beating too fast.

“Is he…?” he asks.

“He was behind us,” the Inquisitor says, holding the rift open. “There was a demon. Quite big...:”

The Iron Bull snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

The rift starts to splutter and Cullen’s all but ready to go in there, face whatever he has to face to get Alain back--

Alain crashes into Cullen, sending them both sprawling onto the ground. He stinks like nothing else and he’s covered in that same disgusting gore as the others but he’s here, he’s back and those green eyes are sparkling. Alain kisses him and Cullen can’t care about the smell. Alain is back.

“I like this view,” Alain says. “We should do this more often.”

Cullen pulls Alain against his chest, runs his fingers--tries to run his fingers through his hair, but it’s all sticky and they just snag, so he holds Alain, clasping him tight, heedless of their audience of the blood-stained ground he’s lying on. “Never again,” he says. “Never leave me again.”

“I promise.”

*

_Skyhold_

Alain keeps good on his promise on the trip back from Adamant, riding his horse next to Cullen’s, sharing his tent. Cullen takes longer to relax. The horrors of what Alain, Hawke, the Inquisitor and companions reported from the fade make Cullen glad he isn’t a mage.

In the deep of night, when he can’t sleep, he thinks about what Alain’s life must be like, and looks to him, wondering if he walks the fade right now, and if he is fighting off demons. But no, he sleeps sound, like Cullen should be.

Cullen rolls over and tugs Alain closer against his side, savouring the heat of skin pressed against skin. He is reluctant to let go, even in the morning, but knows this man will be his again by nightfall.

*

Alain crosses the keep with light bounce to his step. His smile is wide and his eyes twinkle. Cullen catches himself staring from the training ground and grins to himself, shying away lest anyone spot him mooning over his lover. _His lover_. Maker, it feels good to say that. Leliana and Josephine both gave him a good ribbing when they found out, but all in good faith.

“I have good news,” Alain says when he reaches Cullen. He goes up on tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on Cullen’s lips. “Come, I’ll tell you.”

Cullen manages to put duty before love, and tells Alain he must wait. Alain pouts, but says he understands. He gives Cullen’s arse a swot before he leaves though, and extracts a promise to join Alain in their room as soon as he can.

No one complains when Cullen’s drills finish a little sooner than expected.

He walks with measured steps up to his room and there’s Alain, sitting in an arm chair in the sun, reading.

“Do you want to know what’s got me smiling so much?” Alain asks, putting his book down.

Cullen smiles as he divests himself of his outer layers and squishes in next to Alain. He puts his arm over Alain’s shoulder and half pulls him onto his lap.

“Is it me?” Cullen teases.

Alain slaps Cullen’s thigh. “Always,” he says. Then, “The calling. It’s gone.”

Cullen twists to stare at Alain. “Really? Since when?”

Alain makes a non-committal noise. “It’s been drifting in and out since Adamant fell. I didn’t want to believe that it was the false calling. But… for two weeks now. Nothing. I can finally hear myself think again.”

Cullen squeezes Alain as relief floods through him. He kisses the top of Alain’s head, burying his nose in his chestnut hair. “Maker, thank you,” he whispers, and he realises he’s crying.

*

_Honleath_

Corypheus is defeated and the Inquisition disbanded. Cullen doesn’t doubt that he’ll be called on again for some future quest. Solas is still out there, after all. But right now? Cullen’s taking leave. He’s brought Alain back to Honleath, introduced him to the family, endured the kissy noises his _adult_ siblings make, and the endless hugs from his mother and father.

He’s not naive enough to think that he’ll live forever like this, with Alain sitting next to him in the garden, watching the sunset, but he’s content to take whatever precious moments he can, and strong enough to deal with whatever the future might bring. He smiles, leans into Alain, holds him close.

“I’m glad you haven’t tried to run away from me again,” Alain says.

“What?”

Alain grins and looks up at Cullen. “The first time I tried to kiss you, you ran away, remember?”

Maker, the memory floods back in embarrassing, stark relief. Cullen makes a pained noise. “Why did you have to remind me of that?”

“To show you how far you’ve come.”

Cullen snorts. “Thank you very much,” he says, dry. Then, with warmth, “Thank you, truly. For making me see--”

He doesn’t get to finish whatever it was he was going to say, cut off by Alain kissing him. Cullen kisses back. He kisses hard, making up for all that lost time. He’s got the time now, and he’s going to make the most of it.


End file.
